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Lady Shella summoned Roman to discuss how to host Garlan Tyrell.
Garlan was Mace Tyrell's second son. Willas had a broken leg thanks to the Red Viper and couldn't travel. Young Loras, the Knight of Flowers, was still too green to represent the family. And Margaery, the Little Rose, was out of the question. So Garlan it was.
"Child, Garlan sent a formal letter. Highgarden wants good relations with us."
"Good relations?" Roman frowned. "Isn't that a little early? We're barely on the map. Why would Mace Tyrell even notice a place like this?"
Lady Shella covered a smile with her hand. "This isn't Mace's idea. These things are always decided by Olenna. Mace would only make a ss of it."
Olenna Redwyne—the Queen of Thorns. The old woman from the Arbor ran Highgarden far more than her son ever would. Garlan might be the spare, but the Tyrells valued him. He'd end up running Brightwater Keep one day. This visit was no casual whim.
"I understand, my lady. I'll make sure we're ready for him."
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In the days that followed, Roman kept tweaking the dical system and started pulling together every water source across the lands.
When Garlan finally arrived, he couldn't hide his shock. Harrenhal's roads, hospitals, farms, and workshops put the Reach to sha. Even the living standards and basic literacy of the smallfolk were years ahead of anything he'd seen. Most lords kept their people poor and ignorant. Roman's people could read simple signs and notices.
The closer they got to the castle, the more impressed Garlan beca. By the ti he stood before Lady Shella, he was already calculating how to tie himself to this rising power.
Roman's honor guard was simple—flowers and musicians along the road, nothing flashy. But every other soldier stood ready for war. The Tyrells could afford to armor their n, yet Garlan had no doubt what would happen if those soldiers ever t Harrenhal's forces on a battlefield. It would be a slaughter.
Roman built all of this in a single year. This is him showing his hand. No pretty words. Just strength.
After Lady Shella's short welco and the feast, Roman took Garlan on a tour of the castle and the lands around it. The roads, the hospitals, the fields, the forges, the armories—everything convinced Garlan that partnership was the only smart move.
"Lord Roman, Harrenhal is blooming under your hand. It must be like the old days of glory."
Roman shook his head. "That's not quite right, Lord Garlan. Blackheart Harren built this place with the blood and tears of Riverlanders. Now the people of House Whent are rebuilding it with smiles. A white fortress instead of a black tomb."
Garlan caught the correction and bowed his head. "My apologies. Poor choice of words."
Roman waved it off and got straight to business.
"I've shown you what Harrenhal can do. So tell —what does Highgarden actually want?"
Garlan dropped the courtly mask. "Long-term cooperation. Trade, dicine, and the sharing of knowledge. And perhaps… marriage ties in the future."
Roman blinked. "Does Mace know about this?"
Garlan's face tightened. "Nothing is decided yet. We still need to discuss candidates."
Roman felt his cheek twitch but kept his expression polite. These roses want everything. Tie us down but keep their precious Little Rose on the shelf for a better match? Not happening.
Instead he smiled and changed the subject. "Lord Garlan, I'm still young. Let's talk about that later. Co see the new porcelain workshop. You'll want to know what we can trade."
Garlan took the hint and let the marriage talk drop. They spent the next few days walking the lands and hamring out details. Roman offered favorable prices on glass and porcelain. In return, Highgarden would pass along nas of skilled people—maesters, engineers, scholars. Roman would recruit them himself. He could offer better lives than any other lord.
Goods were easy to make. Talent was the real prize.
Garlan saw almost everything except the secret military projects. When he left, he carried enough stories to make the Queen of Thorns take Harrenhal very seriously.
Now it was ti for sothing simpler.
Roman picked up a heavy training hamr and turned to Garlan with a grin.
"Enough politics. You're leaving soon. Let's settle this the old-fashioned way. I've heard you train by fighting multiple opponents at once. I want that kind of real experience. Teach ."
Garlan had just signed a stack of profitable deals. His mood was excellent. "Gladly! But watch yourself, Lord Roman. I don't pull my punches."
Soldiers quickly ford a circle. A few dics hovered nearby with salves and bandages—just in case the Tyrell heir needed patching up. The training hamr couldn't kill anyone, but it could still ring a man's bones.
They squared off. Roman didn't test or circle. He charged straight in.
Garlan expected probing strikes. Instead Roman hamred at his shield and sword like they were the real targets. Every blow aid to knock the weapons from his hands.
Garlan realized too late what was happening. Roman wasn't trying to hurt him—he was trying to disarm him first, then drop him. The warhamr moved faster than any sword Garlan had ever faced. After only a few exchanges his right arm went numb.
Thirty seconds later his sword flew from his grip. The watching soldiers roared with approval.
Roman offered a hand and pulled Garlan to his feet without even breathing hard.
Garlan felt the weight of it all at once—the lands, the army, the man himself. Total dominance.
We cannot afford to make an enemy of House Whent. Not now. Not ever.
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